


Fatherhood

by Fumm95



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: F/M, Family Feels, Father-Son Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-15 21:37:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14798429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fumm95/pseuds/Fumm95
Summary: "Dad, want a reality check? You didn't raise me at all."Ryoma's response to hearing those words and all of their implications.





	Fatherhood

**Author's Note:**

> I romanced Ryoma because Matt Mercer and because I was told that it would be angsty in Conquest. I wasn’t expecting to actually FALL for him. I wasn’t expecting to write FIC for him. WHAT HAPPENED?
> 
> This popped into my head at like 1 am and I spent the next few days chipping away at it. Because parent-child feelings will always be my kryptonite.

When she returns back to her sanctuary, it’s to find the room unusually quiet. Which is not to say that her husband is loud by any stretch of the imagination, but she has grown quite accustomed to his prompt greetings and their absence is jarring.

To her even greater surprise, he is not asleep, as she would have expected given the silence, but rather seated by the window, focused on something beyond the room, and perhaps even beyond the realm. As she pauses in the doorway, he doesn’t move or make any sort of indication that he’s noticed her arrival.

It’s not until she moves closer, stopping beside him and laying a hand on one armored shoulder, that he reacts, jumping at the sudden contact.

“I… apologize, my love. I didn’t notice your return.”

She offers him a smile as she leans in against him, briefly squeezing his shoulder. “I can tell.”

And she can. Even now, though his gaze has momentarily shifted to her, his attention is focused on the view from the window. Tilting her head, she spots Kana, a practice katana in hand as his older brother corrects his posture. At their distance, she can’t make out the words, but their cheer is obvious as Shiro gives his brother an encouraging pat, grinning all the while.

“I’m glad they’re getting along well,” she murmurs. “I was rather worried that growing up apart would mean they had too little in common.”

“Other than a beautiful and loving mother?”

Blushing in spite of herself, she laughs. “And a wise and dependable father, of course.”

When the only response she receives is a heavy sigh, her brow furrows. “Ryoma. What’s the matter? And,” she adds as he opens his mouth, “don’t try to pretend nothing is bothering you. I know you better than that.”

At that, his mouth snaps shut and curls into the faintest hint of a rueful smile. “That you do. But I…” He pauses, glancing back outside. “I must confess that I do not know where to begin.”

Taking a seat beside him, she reaches for his gauntleted hand, lacing their fingers together. “Take your time.”

For several moments, the only sound is the laughter drifting in from the window, bright and warm in the late afternoon sun. And then… “Am I a bad father?”

She blinks. Of all the directions she thought the conversation might take, this is not one of them. “I—what? Where did this come from?”

The fingers around hers tighten their grip as brown eyes bore into hers. “Answer me truthfully, Elanora. Please. _Am I a bad father_?”

Taken aback by his intensity, she pauses before shaking her head emphatically. “Nothing could be further from the truth. Whyever would you think so?”

This time, he laughs, but the sound is so hollow and almost pained that she moves to kneel in front of him, tilting her head up to catch his lowered gaze.

“Ryoma?”

Another sigh, this time accompanied by the creaking strain of metal, and she glances down to find his free hand clenched into a tight fist, though the hand still curled around hers is impossibly gentle. Much like him.

If only he can see that.

She tightens her grip, focusing her gaze on his face as she softens her voice as much as she can. “Ryoma, is this about Shiro?”

For the first time since she’s known him, a look of pure panic and _fear_ flashes across his face and he noticeably flinches, hand twitching in hers. Still, he says nothing, only bowing his head in meek concurrence that tugs on her heartstrings.

“No, my love. He doesn’t think that. He knows you’re doing the best—”

He cuts her off with a mirthless chuckle and, for one second, she thinks she sees his body tremble when he takes a deep breath, thinks she sees an unnatural glint in his eyes before he blinks and his face smoothes back out. “No. He’s right. I don’t— I never raised him. I never really was his father at all.”

Pursing her lips, she sits back on her heels. This is new, a side of her husband that she’s never seen before and, she suspects, that he has never acknowledged, not even to himself. To the rest of Hoshido, he has always been confident, unfaltering, every inch the future ruler of the kingdom. But this uncertainty, this vulnerability…

What they say is true that parenting changes everyone.

“Ryoma.” She waits until he meets her eyes. “If this is your fault, then it is also mine. We both knew that time in the deeprealms passes too quickly, but it was safer there. And now we have both lost years that we may never get back. But that does not mean we are not their parents.”

“But I—”

“You sought to protect him from the responsibilities and dangers of our realm. He will understand that, if he does not already.” She reaches out, laying her free hand on his cheek, and can’t resist smiling when he turns, as if on instinct, to press a kiss to her palm. “Shiro has grown faster than we were expecting and none of us were ready, himself included, I think. He is no longer the young child we last saw, but that does not mean he is wholly different from the boy striving to prove himself to his father, no?”

For a long moment, their small room is silent, and then he nods, slowly, though whether he is trying to convince her or himself, she can’t be sure. “No, perhaps not. And,” he glances out the window, “he has learned much already.”

She gets to her feet, leaning against him once more, and follows his gaze just in time to see Shiro swing his practice katana with purposely sloppy form, allowing Kana a clean parry. “Indeed. Patience and compassion are just as important to a future king as wisdom and steadfastness.”

Something akin to guilt crosses his face. “You heard, then.”

“I did,” she returns steadily. “You forget, you were raised under King Sumeragi’s wing, with a father’s guidance and a prince’s responsibilities. Shiro, though heir to the Hoshidan throne he may be, has had none of the same training that one might expect despite his future title.”

“Yes.” He sighs, looking back down at their clasped hands. “I realized that but by then, I had already spoken. I have been most unfair in my censures.”

“You have, with both him and yourself.” She waits until her words sink in and he meets her gaze once more before smiling gently. “Fatherhood comes easily to no man, my love, especially not when the time has been so fragmented, upon one who already has so many responsibilities on his shoulders. Shiro is older than we are accustomed to, but even so, he is still young and he loves you. He will come around, just as you are.”

Even before she can finish her sentence, she finds herself swept into his arms. “You are as wise as you are beautiful, my dear.”

She pulls away, laughing at the warmth that has returned to his voice. “Flattery will get you nowhere, my husband.”

“Is that so? Perhaps I should rethink my strategy, then.” She only has time to see the hint of a smirk before his lips are on hers. Grinning, she shifts closer, looping her arms around his neck before—

“Mama!”

“F-father?!”

Pulling away, she huffs a sigh, even as she bites back a laugh at the look of pure shock that crosses Ryoma’s face, perfectly mirroring the one on their older son’s face.

“We didn’t mean to interrupt, promise. Kana just wanted to get you to see what he’s learned and I—”

“Mama! Shiro taught me how to use a katana! He said that if I keep practicing, I’ll be able to beat Papa soon, ‘specially if he teaches me to use a naginata. But Papa’s so good! Do you think I can ever beat him? Do you wanna come watch us train?”

She gives in to her urge to chuckle as said son, undeterred, nearly slams into her with the force of his hug, still dragging his older brother along by the hand. Glancing at her husband, she smiles, kneeling down to Kana’s level. “Of course, I will. And I’m sure your papa will be happy to give you pointers too. Let’s go.”

And if she hears the quiet murmur of “Well done, Shiro” and sees the responding blush that it earns, well. She knows better to embarrass the men any more than she absolutely has to, at least for now.


End file.
